Love Is The Death Of Duty
by perxephne
Summary: As a Stark, Rosalind knows duty comes before desire. But after being forced into an arranged marriage with Jaime Lannister, it's only to find herself falling in love with the husband she's meant to hate... (AU).


**Author's Note:** Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

* * *

**On Your Shore**

"No man can best me."

"Yes but maybe a woman can."

Arya raised her eyebrow, raising her wooden sword at the same time. "Would you be that woman?" she hazarded, sounding disbelieving.

Rosalind tilted her head to the side. "Maybe," she contemplated, circling her younger sister, her own weapon raised, "possibly, most absolutely definitely" – She suddenly lunged forwards, knocking Arya's wooden sword out of her hand, Arya watching it clatter to the cobbles in shock.

"Hey!" Arya protested. "That's not fair!"

"Nothing is in love and war," Rosalind said pertly, shouldering her wooden sword. "But I do hold the advantage of experience, you know, being the elder" –

Arya stalked off, making a rude gesture at Rosalind as she did, leaving her weapon where it lay. Rolling her eyes, Rosalind bent down and picked it up, stowing it away with her own. Picking up her stained violet skirts, she then made her way out into the courtyard, wincing a little as the bright sunlight struck her eyes. Nearby, Robb and Jon were superintending Bran's archery practise, roundly mocking Bran's efforts.

"Rose!" Robb hollered. "Over here!"

Rosalind hesitated, thinking of her skirts, not wanting to ruin them further.

"Don't be such a girl!" Robb said, reading her thoughts as always. "A little mud never hurt anyone, did it?"

_Not if they have a septa standing over them from sunrise to sunset_, Rosalind thought ruefully, but she rose to the challenge regardless, lifting the hem of her skirts higher as she gingerly picked her way across the practise grounds towards the archery butts.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Robb teased, ruffling up her russet curls, his blue eyes full of mirth, echoing her own. Robb and Rosalind were twins, Robb the elder by five minutes, both inheriting from their mother the vivid Tully colouring.

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "Next time, you can carry me across," she said smartly as she straightened the collar of Bran's tunic, Bran squirming impatiently as she did, "if your arms can stand it, that is."

"Are you calling me weak?"

"I was aiming more for puny actually."

Jon snorted, making Rosalind frown, the corners of her lips curling downwards, the expression casting her resemblance to Catelyn Stark into relief. He hastily rearranged his face into sober lines, having long learned to be invisible around Rosalind. He loved his sister, but she was a thorn in his side, always sitting in high dudgeon upon him, never letting him forget he was a bastard, teaching Sansa to do the same.

Rosalind turned to Bran, Robb and Jon exchanging glances behind her back, Robb primming up his mouth in imitation of Rosalind, nearly making Jon snort again. "You know, you should imagine the target is Robb," she said, stooping down so she was eye-level with Bran, "and then you might not miss."

"Maester Luwin says it's not the pupil's fault, but the teacher's," Bran said loftily, ducking as Robb made to cuff him around the head.

"Here comes trouble," Jon observed as Rickon crossed the courtyard, munching on an apple as he moved, his grey eyes lighting up upon seeing his siblings.

"Rosie!" Rickon called as he stumbled towards them on his small legs, making Rosalind straighten up, a smile softening her irregular features. "It's me!"

"Of course it's you!" she replied, scooping him up in her arms. "How are you?"

"Hungry!" Rickon crowed, pretending to bite her.

"As hungry as a wolf?" Rosalind teased, tickling him, making him wriggle.

"Where's my apple?" Jon demanded, pretending to pout.

"Here!" Rickon yelled, throwing the apple core at Jon's head, forcing him to duck.

"Almost," Jon said, "but not quite."

"One day though," Robb said, shooting Bran a sidelong glance.

"Maybe it will be today!" Bran snapped, snatching up his bow again. "Just watch me!"

Rosalind rolled her eyes as she carried Rickon out of the line of fire, placing him atop a saddle left on the fence. But as she moved away, she slipped on some mud, nearly losing her balance, Jon catching her by the elbow just in time. "Thank you," she snapped, glaring at Robb, who was grinning at her almost fall from grace.

"A brother has to look out for his sisters," Jon said coolly, letting go of her, his remark making Rosalind turn bright red, since she spent most of her time pretending they weren't related.

"Rosalind!"

They all glanced up, only to see Catelyn Stark on the balcony above, her eyebrows raised in silent question.

Rosalind stifled a curse. "Mother," she awkwardly acknowledged, hurriedly smoothing down her hair, hoping Catelyn wouldn't notice her ruined hem.

"Septa Mordane is looking for you," Catelyn frowned, her blue gaze flickering over Rosalind and the others, sensing mischief was afoot, "she said you and Arya had absconded from your embroidery."

"We went out for some air," Rosalind lied, "I would hardly call that absconding."

"Actually, I would exactly call it that."

At this, Rosalind turned bright red again, inwardly damning her brothers to the darkest hell as they stood there sniggering. Catelyn shook her head, Rosalind as bad as Arya despite her ladylike pretensions. She glanced up as Ned came over, the sight of her husband making her face light up. Her marriage had merely been a deal brokered between two houses, Catelyn originally betrothed to Ned's elder brother, Brandon, until his death at the hands of Aerys Targaryen, but over the years love had come softly and surprisingly. Ned dropped a kiss on her brow, winding his arm around her waist as he leaned over the balcony railing.

"Why are you all standing on ceremony?" Ned asked his children, eyes amused as he exchanged a questioning glance with his wife.

"I'm practising," Bran said stiffly, holding his bow to his side.

Ned nodded. "Let me see, then," he said, tilting his chin.

Bran bit his lip. He glanced at Robb for reassurance, Robb impatiently gesturing him forwards, making Jon step into the fray.

"Don't think too much, Bran," Jon said quietly, clasping Bran's shoulder. "Just be as one with the bow."

Bran exhaled sharply, nocking his arrow, Jon letting go of him, falling back. He scrunched up his eyes before loosing it, only to spectacularly miss the target, making Rosalind dive out of the way, flinging her arms across her head. Robb roared with laughter, clutching Jon for support, Rickon giggling, kicking the saddle with glee. Bran stamped his foot, face flushing hotly with humiliation, on the edge of snapping his bow in half there and then.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Ned grinned. "Keep practicing, Bran," he then said, his tone more gentle, making Bran glance up at him in surprise. "Go on."

Bran looked at his father for a long moment, before turning back to the target. He raised his bow again, Robb appraising his technique with an expert eye, serious for once.

"Relax your bow arm," Robb instructed, "don't be so tense."

Bran's nostrils flared, but before he could let loose the arrow again, something sped past him, hitting the heart of the target. He stared at it in shock before whirling around, only to see Arya standing there, eyes wild with exultation. She lowered her bow, sweeping a curtsey as she did, Rosalind and the others loudly applauding her. Again, Bran stared, disbelieving, and then he suddenly flung himself forwards, Arya taking off like a hare, Bran vaulting the fence in his pursuit, Ned and Catelyn watching from above, fondly shaking their heads at their children's antics.

"One day," Robb grinned, folding his arms across his chest, "maybe."

_Soft blue horizons_  
_Reach far into my childhood days..._


End file.
